


october prompts 2018

by silentbutdeadly



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - College/University, Animal Transformation, Established Relationship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Motorcycles, Pre-Relationship, Surprise Party, Training, Truth or Dare, Werewolves, except the main ones obv, there's just going to be a lot, uhhh may or may not get rid of tags as this thing progresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16271516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentbutdeadly/pseuds/silentbutdeadly
Summary: A compilation of all my October prompt works from 2018! Currently in the middle of writing, we'll see how this turns out at the end of the month.Credits to@ikimaruon tumblr for their Klancetober prompts, and@kcthsand@negaverse_queeron twitter for Keithtober and Smoochtober!





	1. bossy biker boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the klancetober day 1 prompt: walk in the park 
> 
> Lance rides Keith's motorcycle, but not without a little messing around.

“Remember,” Keith says, muffled through his helmet, “don’t let go.”

Lance laughs. “What is this, Titanic? Hey, does that mean I’m the Rose to your Jack? You get “I’m the king of the world” and I get to lie naked on a couch for you.” He strikes a pose, his lanky arms akimbo, his chest puffed out and pressed against Keith’s back.

Keith huffs and lets go of the handlebars. His eyes look almost black through his visor, but even then Lance can see they’re filled with fondness, even if one of them’s framed by a sardonically raised eyebrow. “Babe,” he says, sending a rush through Lance’s spine, “I’m not letting you ride my motorcycle until your arms are around my waist.”

“Like this?” Lance asks, cheeky as he rests his hands low on Keith’s sides. His thumbs work their way under the dried blood leather of Keith’s jacket, smoothing along the pale skin along his hipbones. Lance loves Keith’s nooks and crannies — if they just so happen to be in the small of his back, well, he’s just lucky.

Keith stands up, abrupt enough that Lance jerks his hands back. He swings his legs over the bike, yanking off his helmet and ruffling his hair before reaching for Lance and pulling his helmet off, too. As Lance emerges, Keith becomes silhouetted by sinking October sun, purples, pinks and oranges spreading out behind him.

He only gets a brief glimpse of Keith as a twilit angel before hands tilt his head up, Keith’s mouth meeting his for a kiss. It’s soft and chaste, at least until Keith licks the seam of his lips and bites down. Lance can’t help but gasp, his lips parting open. Keith takes that as a sign to press closer, deepening the kiss. He tastes like mint and blueberries. Lance smiles at how every part of Keith feels like home, even as the world turns heated and hazy. Keith is devious when he wants to be, and right now he’s making Lance feel downright sinful with the way he’s being devoured.

Keith breaks away, just far enough that Lance chases after him, only to fall just a hair too short. He grins, dazed and flushed as Keith gives in with another peck on the lips.

“Will you hold on to me, now that I’ve given you what you wanted?” Keith asks, smile wry and lopsided, maybe a little swollen.

God, Lance is so far gone for this boy. “I’ll do anything you want,” he hears himself say. “Everything’s a walk in the park when I’m with you.”


	2. cuddles in college

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the smoochtober day 2 prompt: blowing a kiss
> 
> Keith is cold, Lance is hot, can it be any more obvious?

People walk by with their heads bent against the wind, the burnished leaves flying against their legs. It’s unusually cold for the first week of October… which is why Keith’s indoors, cuddling on the couch with his boyfriend.

Lance is melted against him, every point of contact a solid warmth. His arms are wrapped around Keith’s waist, and he’s practically sitting in his lap with how their legs are intertwined. His mind is split between the episode of Over the Garden Wall they’re watching and the need to pull Lance over to sit in his lap — he wants squeeze Lance around the middle, to bury his face between his shoulder blades so he can breathe in the scent of his cologne. He always smells like apples this time of year. Lance and his love for fall-scented products never fail to make his heart squeeze and the rest of him feel at home, no matter where they are. He had thought that he’d get used to this feeling after years of friendship and eventually their two-years-so-far of dating, but really, how could he ever get _used_ to Lance?

Instead, Keith buries his nose in Lance’s hair, which is full of tiny waves ever since he’d decided to grow it out for the colder months. He feels Lance’s smile against his collarbone; it widens when he presses a soft kiss on the top of his head, and Lance laughs when Keith pecks his forehead.

Lance peers up at him, eyebrow quirked and lips twitching. Keith looks straight at him, his face level even as his jaw tenses from the effort not to smile at his lovely, lovely boyfriend.

“Am I distracting you, babe?” Keith asks, keeping a remarkably straight face.

Lance’s eyebrows shift minutely upwards, which is how Keith knows that _Lance_ knows he’s pulling his leg. “I don’t know, sweet cheeks,” he replies loftily, “It’s kinda hard to be distracted when I’m used to you slobbering all over me when you want attention.”

Keith flushes. “I don’t— that’s not— stop laughing, okay, so maybe that’s true,” he sputters, struck by how clearly Lance sees through him, even after all this time.

Lance crawls over to straddle Keith’s lap and wrap his arms around his neck. Keith reacts instantly, his arms wrapping secure around Lance. It’s only when Lance smirks — triumphantly, like he knows something Keith doesn’t — that Keith feels like he’s somehow fallen into a trap.

“Darling,” Lance drawls, sending something prickly yet feather-light down the back of Keith’s neck, “we’re having a bonding moment.” He moves closer — they’re mirrors of each other, eye to eye, nose to nose, chest to chest. Keith’s arms tighten further around Lance. There’s no denying that he’ll always want Lance as close to him as possible; it’s instinct, now. Lance’s eyes are a sparkling, warm blue — the colour of the ocean in front of his house in Cardenás when you wade in chest-deep.

“You’re cradling me in your arms,” he whispers against Keith’s mouth, his voice low. Keith feels it against his chest, rumbling along with both of their heartbeats. This moment, in which he and Lance are entwined, two beings melded into one, alone in their own universe…he never wants it to end.

Famous last words.

“Lance!”

“Pidge?” Lance yelps, nearly falling backwards. Keith’s hold tightens around his waist. If Lance ends up pressed tighter to Keith than he was before…well, Pidge scared Keith when they burst through his door, too. He sneaks a sniff of Lance’s neck, but apparently his stealth skills are lacking; Lance swats his shoulder almost immediately. He nips Lance’s skin in return, which has Lance’s baring his neck for more access — a decidedly different reaction.

“Guys, stop being gross!” Pidge groans, deflating momentarily before glaring at them. “Lance, you said you needed my help with physics and you don’t even bother showing up to get it!”

“Oh shit,” Keith hears. His boyfriend becomes a flying tangle of limbs digging for his phone in his pockets, in Keith’s pockets, on the floor. The phone is found in the crack between cushion and arm rest, and Lance ends up sprawled across the couch and on Keith. “It’s four o’ clock,” he breathes, horrified. Keith considers putting a hand on Lance’s ass to fuck with him, but all too soon Lance is up again, grabbing his things haphazardly before meeting the decidedly exasperated Pidge waiting at the door. Keith would ask how they’d managed to open the door in the first place, except he knows that it’d lead to stubborn mystique or an extended scientific explanation, both of which he’d rather not suffer through.

“Bye babe, see you in a couple hours!” Lance calls, blowing a kiss as he’s tugged away by Pidge.

“Have fun,” Keith replies as the door closes.

The quiet is stark after the few minutes of chaos. His laptop’s still playing Over the Garden Wall, he’s still sitting on the couch, but the hush that remains isn’t the same as when Lance had been in the room. Lance brings peace, even if he comes in yelling his lungs out.

The door bangs open again — how do people keep getting in? — and Keith barely has time to ask if Lance has forgotten anything before Lance pulls him into a kiss. A full on, tongue-in-mouth, soul-exchanging kiss, Lance cradling his face from where he’s stooped over. Lance is insistent — the kiss is a conduit for a message that Keith understands, and he replies in kind.

Lance breaks away first, grinning toothily but slightly out of breath, as Keith is gratified to see. “I couldn’t leave without kissing you goodbye,” he says.

Keith laughs. “You blew me a kiss! Doesn’t that count?”

“Meh,” Lance shrugs, nonchalant. “I had a feeling it wouldn’t reach you fast enough, so I came back for an express delivery.”

“Message received,” Keith says. He smiles.


	3. take my hand and drag me headfirst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Klancetober day 4 prompt: rain
> 
> Actors AU - Keith's having a bit of trouble with a scene. It's a good thing Lance is there to help him out.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Keith pleads. His limbs are heavy, weighed down with desperation and heartbreak. The rain drips into his eyes and he shoves his hair away from his face, willing Lance to see just how much he needs him, even if he can’t say it just yet.

Lance’s mouth is set in a grim line, his eyes staring resolutely over Keith’s shoulder. “I know,” he says. Swallows. “That’s why I have to leave.” Briefly, his eyes meet Keith’s, only to dart away just as quickly. 

Keith feels a feral growl rising from within, the hole in his chest getting emptier and emptier ever since Lance had started pulling away from him. “No, you don’t!” he yells, strangled. He stalks towards Lance, who holds his ground. “You don’t have to do anything except slay with me—I mean, stay with me! Dammit!” 

“Cut!” Coran yells. “Okay everyone, ten minute break and then we’ll try again!”

Keith groans at the ceiling. The rain lightens to a mist before disappearing completely, while he and Lance are left standing around in their damp clothes. The film’s going to get delayed if he keeps messing up — they’re going to get pneumonia after staying wet for this long in the cold autumn air, and they’ll have to rearrange the whole schedule around it. He puts his face in his hands. Why can’t he just get this scene right? What’s wrong with him? 

Warm hands close gently around his wrists. “Hey, man,” he hears, pitched low enough so that only he can hear. “You doing okay?”

Keith’s face warms, at odds with the rest of him that’s shivering out. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, “I just gotta get myself together for this scene.” He presses harder on his eyes, looking for the stars and galaxies that come with near-complete darkness.

Lance squeezes his arms three times, reassuring and grounding him. “It’s okay, dude, we all have our off days. It’s not helping that we’re soaking wet at 3am, either. Do you want me to get your parka?” he asks. Lance should be getting his own jacket, not worrying over Keith who’s just standing like an idiot and also perfectly capable of getting it on his own without bothering anyone else. 

Keith sighs. “No, I’m fine,” he says, finally emerging from his self-made wall. Lance looks concerned, his brows drawn together and his mouth pursed. Lance should never be worried, especially not because of Keith. 

Keith pulls his arms close to his chest and walks backwards towards the break tent. Lance’s hands are trapped in Keith’s hold, forcing him to follow along. 

“We should warm up a bit,” Keith says, trying for joviality. “They’ve got hot chocolate inside.” 

The corner of Lance’s mouth lifts, and he presses his index fingers into Keith’s chest, his thumbs sticking up, an approximation of his trademark finger guns. “Babe,” he jokes, “you’re hot enough for the both of us.”

Keith blinks. And blinks again. His brain is a beach ball of death — gay and spinning.

Lance, in turn, suddenly looks uneasy. His fingers curl onto Keith’s chest — he probably thinks he crossed a line, when really he’d just shot another arrow into Keith’s heart and Keith’s just having trouble processing it.

“Hey, if I made you uncomfortable—“

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one that’s too hot for your own good,” Keith blurts out, fifteen seconds too late and as gay as he is awkward. But it’s true, he thinks — Lance is hot as fuck, miles and miles of legs and a surprisingly solid torso that hides under henleys and army jackets. A decade of being told that patience yields focus and other similar maxims have barely kept Keith from combusting in his presence. Until now, apparently.

Lance, for all that he pretends to be a casanova, looks gobsmacked. His blush blazes across his cheeks and trickles down his neck, and he actually eeps before shutting his mouth with a snap. It’s fucking adorable — Lance can dish it, but he can’t take it. 

“God, you’re so cute,” he says, completely honest even as one part of him yells to shut the fuck up before he ruins everything. Another part, the one that sounds like Adam and Shiro, is yelling GO, BE GAY over and over again, and is quite frankly drowning out the rest. “Do you want to go out for breakfast when we’re done filming?” 

“No fucking way.”

Ah. Okay, then. Time to retreat, and to dive into a well where nobody will ever find him unless they’re desperately thirsty, and even then they’ll be disappointed when all they find is a starved stick of boy with too much hair and not enough sense.

“Fuck, wait!” Lance panics, gripping tight on his wrists again. Keith hadn’t even noticed that he’d started pulling away. “That came out wrong! Yes, yes, I’d love to eat breakfast with you when we’re done being wet and cold! I’ll eat breakfast with you everyday!”

Keith hesitates. “Are you sure? You didn’t sound too eager, there,” he frowns. “’No fucking way’ is a pretty strong sentiment, if you ask me.” 

Lance grimaces and mutters underneath his breath in Spanish, which really doesn’t help his case. Keith tries to drop his hands, but Lance notices and stays firm. His blush still hasn’t gone away, which is endearing even though this situation makes Keith’s nape sweat.

“Keith,” he says, ocean eyes looking straight at him, “people say ‘no fucking way’ when they can’t believe that their crush just hit on them and then asked to hang out one-on-one.”

Oh. 

“Places, everyone! Let’s get this show on the road! Keith, Lance, where are you?” Coran booms.

Lance grins. “Duty calls,” he says. His right hand slides down Keith’s arm to take his hand and pull him back to their starting positions, hot chocolate forgotten. “We can discuss this over eggs and waffles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Claire, just because this was her favourite chapter so far. That's probably going to change once she finds out whose lyrics i used for the fic title.


	4. you know what that is?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Smoochtober prompt: kiss on the forehead
> 
> Taller Keith, or taller Lance? The age-old question must be settled.

“Give it up, Lance,” Keith says. 

“No! I refuse to accept this.” Lance frowns, his face scrunched up. Keith wondered if he cares about wrinkles, given his extensive skincare routine. “This is rigged. Guys, this is rigged, right?” he says, turning to the other paladins for reassurance.

Pidge doesn’t even look up from their tablet. “You said it yourself, dude. Keith’s bigger, cooler, grizzled — it makes sense that he’s taller than you now.”

Lance scoffs. “I only said he looked bigger because he was wearing the Blade suit, and we all know those have padding on the inside.” He pokes Keith’s arm, currently bare under a black v-neck. “You know, like one of those old superhero movies where everyone looks as ripped as hell. It’s not real.”

Hunk scratches his neck in confusion. “I mean, you can always feel him up to check. With his consent, of course,” Hunk adds. 

“You mean like he’s doing right now?” Keith asks. He flexes his bicep and Lance squeaks like a rubber duckie, only to cover it up with a cough. His face is a little darker than it was just a few seconds ago, though, so maybe Keith’s onto something. 

“Hey Lance, come back over here,” he calls. Lance turns around from where he’s frowning at Hunk and Pidge — Keith can tell he expected the other two members of the so-called Garrison Trio to be on his side out of sheer loyalty, even in the face of opposing empirical evidence. He sulks back to Keith, hands in his pockets. “I know how we can tell who’s taller without having to measure against a wall, or anything,” Keith continues.

Lance looks skeptical. “I don’t think Allura wants us to go into the healing pods just to see our height. That’s like going to the emergency room for your yearly physical. It’s disrespectful, Keith.”

Keith sighs. “Look,” he says, “we’re not going to take advantage of advanced alien technology so we can see who’s taller or not. I’m just gonna do this.” 

He cups Lance’s face in his hands and pecks a kiss right on his forehead. It takes effort to suppress his grin when he sees the incredulous expression on Lance’s face.

“I guess now we know for sure,” Keith says. He can feel the corners of his mouth lifting. “If you really were taller than me, that wouldn’t have been so easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Growth.


	5. what's new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Klancetober prompt: black cat
> 
> Keith's had enough of spontaneous transformations, in all honesty.

Lance’s hands are a study in contradictions. The skin over the back of his hand never feels less smooth than a baby’s cheeks, but his fingertips are rough and calloused from years of playing guitar. Keith knows from experience that his grip is deadly — an hour long arm-wrestling match will definitely prove that — but his fingers are long and elegant, the kind that’d appear in an ad for Rolex. 

Keith loves his hands. 

They’re currently twisting through Keith’s hair — he scratches his nape and Keith’s spine can’t help but stretch into a bow. He wants Lance’s hands on him; soft, loving caresses all over his body. His face would be particularly nice, maybe a some more down his spine?

Keith stills. He’s getting distracted.

Lance strokes his cheek. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, unabashedly honest to Keith’s detriment. He grabs him by the waist and arranges him on his lap, pleased with himself. Keith’s conflicted — on one hand, he’s in Lance’s lap. On the other, he’s been transformed into a cat.

“Lance,” he yells, “it’s me, Keith, your boyfriend! Pidge’s experiments fucked up!” Keith’s not exaggerating, not when he can hear the meows of his voice over his internal monologue. 

“Aww,” Lance laughs, tickled pink. “Are you trying to tell me something? You’re pretty loud, that’s for sure.” He rubs Keith’s belly, jiggling his whole body in the process.

“Go to Allura!” Keith pleads, helpless against Lance’s love for all things cute and small (except Pidge, who’d gut him with a motherboard if they ever found out that Lance grouped them with Rilakkuma and tiny black cats. Pidge is in a group of their own).

The common room doors whoosh open, but Keith still can’t tell who it is given that all he can see is Lance cooing over him. He mewls louder when he hears Allura’s posh accent, desperately hoping that she’ll be able to understand him. If she can understand Altean mice, she can probably understand a black Japanese Bobtail. 

He rolls around, looking for her. “Help me,” Keith howls, padding around in a circle on Lance’s thighs.

Lance yelps and scoops him into his arms. “Watch the goods, baby,” he frowns, nose to nose with Keith. He can’t help but lick Lance’s nose just to make his face scrunch before yelling for Allura again.

“What is that racket?” Allura demands, stalking over to Lance. “Why is this…creature asking for help?” she asks, looking askance at Lance, who looks as confused as he did in geography class back at the Garrison.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, cuddling Keith closer. “And he’s not a creature, he’s a beautiful, precious, glorious cat that’s going to be instated as our mascot,” Lance can’t help but add, a touch snooty. Keith licks his face again — it’s the closest he can come to kissing this boy who’ll stand up for him even when he doesn’t know it.

“This cat’s asking for help,” she says, gesturing to Keith. “It’s been yelling ‘help me’ ever since I got into the room, though help it with what, I can’t imagine.” She peers closer at Keith, who realizes that he’s only been asking for help and doing nothing to explain what happened.

“This is Keith. One of Pidge’s experiments turned me into a cat,” he says, looking her in the eye. Her own blue eyes widen in shock, then disbelief, and finally weary acceptance.

“I should’ve known this was going to happen,” she murmurs under her breath. Her hand rubs her nose bridge in frustration. “I’m going to need to talk to Pidge about safety mechanisms again.”

“What is going on?” Lance bursts. Keith grabs his Lance’s face between his paws and forces him to look him in the eyes. Lance blinks, suddenly perturbed.

“The cat is Keith,” she explains, “who transformed into a cat because of one of Pidge’s experiments. You’ve been cuddling with your boyfriend without knowing it.”

“Keith???”

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! Updates might get a bit more sporadic around here, midterms and essays are coming up so this might have to go on the back burner for a bit. Still, I've got ideas planned for the rest of October, so keep an eye out!


	6. were-ever you go, whatever you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the klancetober prompt: werewolf 
> 
> Keith is forced to reveal his lycanthropy to Lance when there's nowhere else to turn during a time of need. This is the aftermath.

“So, Keith,” Lance says, the picture of forced casualness. He’s slouched in the desk chair, his feet propped on his bed. “When were you going to tell me you were a werewolf?”

Keith thunks his head against the wall. Lance’s dorm ceiling is plastered with glow-in-the-dark stars. They’ve always been something Keith’s loved to look at whenever he came over. They’re spread all over the room, but above the foot of Lance’s bed are a cluster of stars that form the full constellation of Sagittarius. He traces it with his mind’s eye as he thinks of ways to avoid answering Lance and hurting him. Ironic, really, considering that he was the one that fell at Lance’s door as soon as the full moon disappeared under the horizon. 

“You know, it’d have been fine if you told me before you stained my doormat,” Lance continues. “You think country Taylor Swift is better than pop Taylor — how much more of a stretch would it be to say you’re a werewolf?”

Keith huffs a laugh, albeit a little unwillingly. Trust Lance to want to make him feel better even after he’d been a shit friend. He glances at Lance and finds him looking straight at him, never having looked away. Keith can’t bring himself to look away, either.

“If I tell you that I’ve been a werewolf since I was born,” he says, making Lance sputter and cough, “what would you do?” 

Lance’s eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline. “You’ve been a werewolf this entire time?”

“What do you mean ‘this entire time’?” Keith asks, his voice cracking because of how pitchy it is. “I’ve only known you for the last two years!”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Ugh, okay, yeah,” he concedes, exasperated, “but you could’ve just told me when we first met!”

“Yeah, that would’ve worked out really well, seeing how this is going,” Keith bites back. “‘Hi, my name’s Keith, I’m a first year doing anthropology and astrophysics. By the way, I’m a werewolf, do you wanna hang out?’”

Lance opens his mouth to retort, undoubtedly with something witty and smashing, but closes his mouth with a click. A pensive look creeps on his face, his eyes glazing over just enough to look into the middle distance. “Actually,” he says, “I probably would’ve thought that you were high. Or drunk. You do end up talking about cryptids when you get wasted.” 

“See!” Keith says, more triumphantly than he ought to. Why are they even arguing about this? Keith’s right, he knows he is. It would’ve been a disaster. On the other hand, the bar set by their first meeting is practically underground. Anything is an improvement over a spite-filled tri-campus cheer-off…especially when you’re supposed to be on the same team. “Also, you know a werewolf isn’t a cryptid, stop trying to distract me,” he adds. Priorities.

“Alright, fine,” Lance says as he raises his hands in defeat. “Still doesn’t stop me from worrying about you, though. Like, okay, intellectually I know that you’ve been dealing with this for your whole life and you probably know how to manage on your own, but I can’t help but worry, especially now that you’ve actually come to me for help after your transformation.” He sighs, and for the first time the morning light hits his face just so, enough that Keith can see soft smudges of purple under his eyes. 

This is what Keith had always wanted to avoid, and yet here it is unfolding right in front of his eyes. Refusing to tell anyone about his lycanthropy was an attempt at normalcy — initially for himself, and then for the family that he’d found himself dragged into one group project into his life at university. Lance had somehow worked his way up the list of people that not only cared about Keith, but that Keith also cared for in return. And yet here Lance is, weary after running to the pharmacy to stock up on gauze and antiseptic after Keith forbade him from taking him to the ER. His injuries weren’t even that serious — the car had just grazed him, gave him a couple bruises and a few lengthy gashes. They were nowhere near his vital areas or deep enough to warrant serious worry, which was how he ended up being able to drag himself to Lance’s dorm in the first place. At least he’d been out of his wolf form by then. It could’ve been so much worse. The thought weighs on him.

“Okay,” Keith says. He runs his fingers over his nails, still a bit pointy even hours after transforming. He’s come to a resolution, one that’ll hopefully work out for the both of them. He tells Lance about how he slips into one of the abandoned, unsold houses next to campus every full moon and triple locks himself into a room that he fills with enough raw meat and extra large doggy toys to tide him over for the whole night. “I usually stock up at Costco, but sometimes they give me weird looks when all I buy is meat. If you want,” he says, hoping Lance will recognize this for the olive branch that it is, “you can come with me, and help me set up the room next month.” 

Lance is quiet, enough so that Keith forces himself to look up at him. Lance is grinning, a bit of a dazed look in his eyes, as if he can’t believe he’s gotten Keith to do what he wants. The joke’s on him: Keith can never deny him anything, not even if he tries his hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it through hell week!! As soon as I slept off my all-nighter I went back to writing this, so hope you guys like it. I'll try and keep up with the other prompts that inspire me for the rest of October. Hopefully I'll break one of my own personal goals! 
> 
> Also, again for Claire, because this involves a werewolf and she hates 'em.


	7. red-line overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the klancetober and keithtober prompts: fangs and dual wielding 
> 
> Pidge and Hunk dare Lance to make a fool of himself in front of Keith. Nothing new there. Lance does, however, get _slightly_ distracted. Just a bit.

“So, lemme get this straight,” Lance says.

“Go for it.”

“Sure.”

“You two,” he says, gesturing with two fingers at Hunk and Pidge, “dare _me,_ ” as he points to himself, “to go to Keith, interrupt his _very intense_ Blade of Marmora training where he _dual wields_ , and tell him I’m a vampire and want to suck his pudding.”

“Yeop, that’s pretty much it.” Pidge rocks back and forth on their feet, the quirked-up corner of their mouth the only indication of the shit-eating grin they’re barely holding back.

“Why…why pudding?” Lance asks. As if he doesn’t know the answer.

Hunk shrugs, barely concealing a grin of his own. “I dunno man, you tell me. You’e the one that makes fun of his sweet tooth all the time.”

“Yeah, Lance,” Pidge pipes up, “We’re just keeping you in character. So go on, tell the man the things he needs to hear.” They leer at him, their fucked up lenny face coming close to his. “Unless you’re _chicken_.”

And it’s obvious that it’s bait, it really is, but Lance can’t help it — anything related to falling short to Keith fires him up like nothing else. They’ve been friends for the better part of a year, even outside of the need to mold together as paladins of Voltron. It wouldn’t be a stretch to call them space ranger partners, but he’d by lying if he said he’s completely moved past the years of self-imposed rivalry at the Garrison.

“Okay, you know what, fine,” Lance snaps decisively, and stalks off. He can feel Pidge’s grin trained on the back of his head, somehow stretching further across their face as he slaps the entry button for the training rooms. He steps inside, only to stop immediately when he realizes that he’s looking at Keith — sweaty, dishevelled, impeccably calm Keith — facing off against three training droids.

Lance doesn’t know much about dual wielding. He’s seen it in video games, and somehow he knows that in ye olden days, people used to duel with a main gauche and a larger sword. He’s not too sure about the last one, fairly certain that if he did learn about it, it would’ve been through one of his historical romance novels. It’s fitting, really, given that Keith looks like he could be a seasoned knight, armour dinged yet gleaming as he vanquishes his evil arch-nemesis _,_ who may or may not have his one true love held hostage. Instead of chain mail and a coat of arms, though, Keith’s wearing a soaked black t-shirt and tight workout pants — by no means an unworthy substitute. He fights with a controlled brutality that has one of the droids cleaved through its midsection and another beheaded shortly after. Keith wheels around to take down the last one standing, and even though he’s facing Lance’s direction, Lance knows that he’s essentially invisible. It’s just Keith and the droid.

“Psst! Lance. Lance!”

A shoe knocks him on the side of his head, hard enough to shock him but not enough to hurt. He whips around to find Pidge and Hunk crouched behind the door, Hunk layered over Pidge like a shell so that his head’s above theirs, giving both of them a view of Lance zoning out as he drools over Keith’s fighting. “What?” he stage whispers.

“Do it, coward!” Pidge whisper-shouts back, their face an exaggerated demon’s mask.

“He’s busy! Look at him!” Lance says, gesturing forcefully towards the fighting area.

The sounds of crushing metal draws his attention back to the fight, only to see Keith picking himself up from where he'd been straddling the last droid. Its head is in one of his hands. He drops it on the droid’s midsection, its wires still sparking and hanging loose from its neck.

“Oh, would you look at that. Keith’s free,” Hunk says meaningfully. Pidge’s face is so expectant their eyebrows have disappeared.

Lance gives both of them the stink eye. “You better not be recording this,” he says. He doesn’t bother waiting for an answer as he turns back towards Keith, who’s chugging a bottle of water like his life depends on it. Stray drops of water escape from the side of his mouth and move down his jaw, sliding along the long lines of his neck before catching on his collarbone and disappearing into the dark stains of his top. The front of Keith’s shirt looks like someone spilled a whole pitcher on him — it’s soaked from his neck to his navel, clinging onto his pectorals as he heaves for breath. His eyes flick open and he catches sight of Lance, who, predictably, is standing next to him, gaping like a koi fish at feeding time.

Keith drains the bottle with a sigh of relief, and wipes his mouth with the bottom of his shirt. It's not like it would do anything. The shirt is wet, there’s no way he’d actually be able to get any water off his face. Hell, his _skin_ is wet. His abs — he has a six-pack, some distant, alarmed part in Lance’s mind registers — they glisten for the brief moments they appear before Keith tugs his shirt back down.

“Did you need something, Lance?”

Lance’s eyes snap up from where they’d been lingering around Keith’s belt. Keith’s smiling at him, which, wow, okay, Lance clearly needs time to process all of this because Keith is pink-cheeked and adorable and _deadly_. He laughs nervously, his mind going into overdrive.

“Haha, Lance?” he says, voice cracking at the end of his fucking _name_ , “I think you mean, Count Lance-ula!” He brings his hands up to his mouth, his index fingers curved over his canines. “My name is Count Lance-ula and I want to suck your pudding!” he says with what he thinks is a Transylvanian accent, thereby setting the record for the shittiest Bela Lugosi impersonation in the entire universe. Did Bela Lugosi even have fangs? Did he have an accent? Does it even matter when Lance is having a gay crisis?

Keith’s eyebrows wrinkle together, leaving him looking like an puppy looking for something that was never thrown. “Did…you want me to give you some of my stash?” he asks. “Are you alright?” Keith steps closer to Lance, the smell of sweaty boy intensifying the nearer he gets. Keith's shirt collar is loose, stretched with age and weighed down by the water. He pulls it, fanning himself and giving Lance a better view of his chest. It's pale and sculpted and sweaty — by no means is he Captain America, but Lance isn't complaining.

He can feel his face heating up, and really, he can only last for so long before he has to  retreat. “Uh, gotcha!” he says, shooting his trademark finger guns as he backs away. “It’s all a joke. I’m good, Keith, good job on the uh, training, now I’m just…going to check on Kaltenecker! Yeah, that's what I'm doing. Bye!” He makes a break for the exit, needing to get out as soon as possible. Otherwise, he'll burst into flames.

“Is this another ‘I say Voltron’ thing?” Keith calls out from behind him.

Lance laughs, mildly hysterical. “Nope! Don’t worry about it buddy, you’re all good! See you!”

He makes it through the doors to find Pidge and Hunk rolling on the floor, cackling and crying with laughter. “I hope you’re happy,” he seethes, before running back to his room to dive under the covers and deal with the newfound knowledge of his crush on Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a real life incident with my friend; we dared her to go up to her crush and say the exact same thing Lance says to Keith, except obviously she used her name and her crush was playing basketball instead of dual wielding (would've been much cooler if he had been, smfh. He was also a douche, looking back. Keith, however, is not a douchebag - he is my son.) 
> 
> This also goes out on Keith's birthday, so happy birthday to one half of my favourite paladins! I'm still going to write a proper Keith celebrating his birthday fic...after I finish my last essay.
> 
> The title's from Danger Zone by Kenny Loggins. Half of my titles are song lyrics, let's push that ratio a bit higher.


	8. put your back on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Keith's birthday
> 
> Keith's out of the house. Now Lance and his merry band of conspirators have to race against the clock to complete the ultimate mission: a surprise birthday party.

“Have you got the cake?”

“In the fridge.”

“Candles?”

“Uh, Coran’s looking around for some. You really need to organize your house, Lance.”

Lance frowns. “Like you’re one to talk, Pidge,” he says, ripping off a piece of tape. He tacks it on the wall, securing the last corner of the banner he’d spent the last two days making in secret. He’d drawn _Happy 25th Birthday Keith_ in glittery red letters across the whole thing, and had even managed to draw a decent hippo in the corner. He’d been pleasantly surprised when he’d taken a step back to look at his work for the first time — he hadn’t taken the time to properly draw anything for while with his students and his paladin work keeping him busy. It makes sense that he’d do this for Keith, though — his boyfriend was worth everything, especially on his birthday.

The cake is stored, the banner’s been hung up, Pidge is setting up the buffet, Allura’s grilling in the backyard with Romelle, and dessert’s stocked up in the freezer. A tub of Keith’s favourite ice cream is crammed in there along with a couple boxes of mochi in different flavours stacked on top for good measure. His phone’s connected to the speakers, his party playlist thumping through the speakers but soft enough that he doesn’t need to yell. Much.

Banner taken care of, he goes to help out Hunk and Shay, who are barely beneath the curtain of helium balloons bumping against the ceiling. He pauses to just look at them and bask in their happiness — they’re giggling and having the time of their lives. He joins them, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Do you think we’ve got enough of those to make sure that Keith can’t walk through the house without smacking his face into one of them?”

Shay beams at him. “Oh, definitely,” she says, filling up another red balloon from the helium pump. She ties it off with the dexterity of someone who’d popped out of the womb with their life together because they’re just that damn good. She is, Lance can’t help but think, the embodiment of “sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard”. Plus, if you looked for “soulmates” in the Oxford English Dictionary, it wouldn’t be remiss to find ‘Hunk and Shay’ listed as every definition and example from every era. And maybe, he thinks as Shay lets go of the red balloon to let it bump against its companions before finding its place among them, he and Keith belong there too. They’d probably be better off under “space ranger partners” — accuracy is key, after all.

The door leading to the basement bursts open. “I found the candles!” Coran crows from the hallway as he poses, his fist raised in triumph. He struts his way over to them and proudly hands Lance a flashlight. Lance blinks at it, temporarily stunned, but huffs a laugh and gets up to squeeze Coran into a hug.

“Oh!” the older man exclaims, pleasantly surprised, before hugging him back. “I didn’t realize candles warranted this much gratitude!”

“They usually don’t,” Lance says, as he squeezes one last time before letting go. He really loves Coran — he’s practically been his second dad ever since they had met on the Castle of Lions so long ago. It’s why Lance doesn’t bother to correct him when he’d spent all this time digging through Keith and Lance’s junk in the basement. It’s his fault anyways, for not bothering to show a picture of a candle to an alien species so advanced that the concept of open fire was absolutely primitive in every sense. Describing a candle as something that you light up and can turn off again just as quickly probably didn’t help either, so now it’s up to him to find them. It’s what he should’ve done in the first place, if Lance is being honest with himself.

“Thanks for finding this for me, Coran,” he says, flashing a grin as he grips the other man’s shoulder. “Now I’ll probably be able to look for the, uh, last of the hippo plushies that Keith’s hidden in the basement.” He turns back to Hunk and Shay, who are tying balloons to everything that stays still long enough for them to do the job. “Remember, guys! Keith, Shiro and Adam are due back in—“ he checks his watch, “about twenty minutes, so we’ve gotta get this stuff finalized, pronto. Pidgey! There are you are. I don’t know how you disappeared in my tiny house.”

Their mouth wrinkles. “Stop circumventing your way around the word ‘short’. We all know that’s what you mean.”

“Maybe so,” says Lance, imperiously sweeping his arm in reluctant, yet dignified, acquiescence. “Anywho, I need to go look for the candles, _which I know I have_ , so go and text Shiro or Adam to double check where they are. I know I said to come at three o clock, but there is _no_ way I’m going to be that cliche significant other that gets caught setting up a surprise party, only to have a delightfully fluffy reunion with my beloved where I get a little lovin’ for all my hard work.” Pidge and Hunk glance at each other, the barest tilt of Hunk’s head answering the flare of Pidge’s nostrils. “Our hard work,” Lance corrects. They nod, satisfied.

Lance grins and salutes them, turning to go down into the basement. He stops at the foot of the stairs, trying to remember if candles would be in Miscellaneous Drawer 1 or 2, which are on opposite sides of the basement for no reason except that Adam and Shiro liked fucking with them and they were too lazy to move them. It’d just been further proof that even when fucking around, Adam and Shiro were golden boys who could do no wrong through and through. Unless, of course, you remembered that they broke up and got engaged after realizing that, no, they really couldn’t live without each other no matter how self-sacrificing and noble one of them wanted to be, and then proceeded to have a smorgasbord of a wedding that made everyone cry, especially Keith, because they’re chaotic AND dramatic.

Lance sighs dreamily. Good times.

He finds the candles in Miscellaneous Drawer 2, buried underneath sheets of Christmas tags and flowered ribbons. It’s just in the nick of time — he hears Pidge yell and he fucking _bolts_. He sprints up the stairs, praying that he gets to the living room before Keith does. They should’ve bought another house, one that doesn’t have the basement door right next to the entrance. He skids into the living room and checks his hip on the couch, his bare feet squeaking and burning against the hardwood floor.

“Are they here?” he whisper-yells.

“Shiro’s in the driveway!”

“Shit, go go _go!_ ”

They scramble, Lance and Hunk diving behind the long dinner table, backs pressed to the wall under the flashy banner. Shay throws a blanket over Pidge, who’s rolled up into a ball on the couch, and runs into the kitchen as Coran trots along behind her. Allura, goddess that she is, manifests at the back door and lets herself into the kitchen, her tucked t-shirt, regal bun, and sunny smile immaculate — as expected of the grillmaster. Following her is Romelle, who places herself at the partition between kitchen and living room and peeks her head out for the best view. Even with all the food in his way, Lance can see the way Allura’s eyes soften at the sight of her girlfriend and her clearly beloved antics.

The lock on the door shakes and clicks. “Okay,” Keith’s voice carries, “but I still don’t understand why you and Adam couldn’t just do _your_ shopping alone — hey!”

Lance hears heavy, staggered steps and snickered laughter before Shiro, Adam and Keith come into view. Shiro and Adam have their arms slung over Keith’s shoulders, weighing him down so that he’s almost bent double. They drag him through the hallway into the living room, totally ignoring Keith’s muffled protests. Evidently, they’ve split duties — Shiro guides their stumbling group through the furniture, while Adam takes care to obscure Keith’s eyes as much as possible. Shiro looks up to check if everything’s as it should be and Lance gives him a thumbs up. He grabs Adam’s attention and tilts his chin up — _ready when you are_.

They let go.

Lance bites his lip as Keith stumbles. His cat’s grace saves him from tripping. He looks up.

“Happy birthday!”

Keith’s fought in a magical robotic lion, he’s transported through space and time, and he’d been a guest at the 20th annual McClain Extended Family Reunion. Even still, their yells startle him into stillness, only dissolving when everyone piles on him for a massive group hug. Lance is the closest — his arms wrap around Keith’s waist and he buries his face in his shoulder, Pidge’s arm stuck between them and Allura’s hair in his mouth. Nevertheless, he hugs tighter. He knows with all of his being that he loves Keith the way the ocean reflects the sky, a nightlight loves a child, the way rain slides off a leaf and into roots and lightning touches a spire. It’s etched in his bones and travels along his skin. He cradles home in his arms, because at the beginning and at the end of it all Lance loves loving his love.

Love envelopes them.

 

—

 

Keith comes out of the washroom vigorously drying his hair. It’s long, the tips resting past his collarbone and dripping on his shirt.

Lance reaches over and takes the towel out of Keith’s hands. “I’ll do it for you,” he says with a grin. “Birthday boy deserves special treatment.” He sits Keith down on the edge of their bed, kneeling behind him as he shakes out Keith’s hair. If Lance takes a little more time running his hands through it …well, Keith knows that he has a thing for his hair, especially when it’s grown out like this.

“So,” Lance says as he works the towel through Keith’s layers, “did you like your party?”

Keith hums, his smile audible. “It was loud.”

“That it was.”

“Unexpected.”

Lance laughs. “That’s kind of the whole point of a surprise party, babe.” He runs the towel through the ends of Keith’s hair one last time, and tells him to bend his head and flip his hair forward. Lance gathers it and wraps it in a turban, never leaving his spot. He lets himself fall forward to cuddle Keith from behind, his cheek pillowed on Keith’s shoulder blade. “I told Adam and Shiro to get you out of the house so I could get everything set up.”

He feels Keith’s breaths through the shifting cotton, soft under his palms. Deep and even. “Is _that_ why I had to hang out with them today?” Keith asks.

“Yeop,” Lance answers, dragging the word out for all its worth.

“Is that so,” Keith murmurs, sounding amused. “Thought they went with me because I asked them to help me out.”

Lance stills. “I...didn’t know that.”

“I needed to get something for myself,” says Keith. It’s fine that Keith would want to treat himself — heck, sometimes he still doesn’t let himself go after what he wants, especially if he thinks he doesn’t need it — but Lance had thought that he’d covered _everything_.

“I thought the gifts we gave were pretty good,” says Lance with some uncertainty. “You’ve been talking about those Doc Martens for ages. Did I get the size wrong? We can return them, I’ve still got the receipt—“

“No, they’re perfect,” Keith interrupts, turning around with a smile. “Everything you did was perfect.” He kisses Lance on the cheek, the gesture like water after after a bitter pill. “Here, I’ll show you what I got,” he says with a knowing glint in his eye. Keith can read Lance better than he knows himself, and takes advantage of that whenever possible…like now, when he’s comforting his boyfriend on his own birthday.

Keith kneels in front of their nightstand. He pulls the drawer out and pauses, looking back at Lance. “You know, this is technically a gift for you, but I’m going to like it just as much. Maybe more, if I’m being honest.” Whatever he pulls out of the drawer is hidden in his hands, and he returns to Lance. Keith looks at him with eyes like happy galaxies. He is bright with mirth and love, almost in disbelief of it all if not for the years that have proven that yes, this is you, you are real, he is yours and you are his.

Keith gets on one knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest narrative I've ever written! I feel like writetober's made me progress as a writer and I'm pretty proud of myself for coming this far, especially when only a couple months ago the thought of writing _anything_ like this would've made me sweat.
> 
> A little epilogue: you know Lance ends up crying after Keith proposes. I like to think that Keith tried to do a Proper Speech, as befits Lance, but Keith's endearing straightforwardness won instead. Hooray for weddings! 
> 
> The title's from Read My Mind by the Killers, geniously suggested by my friend Claire.

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess that's it! Even though I have a couple more works planned based off of the Klance/Keithtober posts, I'm going to mark this work as complete. I want to be clear about the work that I managed to do during the span of October, and it'll be fun for me to look back on this as a really productive month that allowed me to break through a couple mental blocks I had about writing.
> 
> In re: the other planned works, most of them are one-shots that I'll publish...when I've actually written them. I've also got something in mind for Werewolf Keith, so keep an eye out. If you've followed along from chapter 1, THANK YOU!! It really means a lot.


End file.
